This temple bore no resemblance to the one in her nightmares. The space was warm and inviting, smelling of wood, beeswax, and roses. Rows of well-oiled wooden benches faced forward, and shelves of archaic paper books lined the sides of the room. At the front of the room, looking over everything, stood a statue of a woman in flowing robes who held a book in one hand and a lit candle in the other. Incense smoked at her feet.
As Mae studied the sculpture, a weird sense of disorientation swept over her. The statue shifted in her eyes. A sword replaced the candle, and she held flowers where the book had been. An amber necklace hung around the goddess’s neck, and on her head, a crown made of tiny sparkling stars bathed her in brilliance. Mae had never seen anything so beautiful, and she didn’t even realize it had called her forward until she stood right in front of the statue. The intensity reminded her of that darkness that descended on her in battle, only now she felt a warmth and exhilaration spread through her, making her feel light and radiant.
Justin came to stand beside her. “So what do you—”
He stopped when he saw her face. His expression transformed with wonder, and his breath caught. The world sparked between them. Somehow, he could see that glory burning through her, and he was spellbound. For a moment, she could see herself in his eyes, vibrant with beauty and life. And then, something even more remarkable happened: She could sense a power surrounding him as well. It had a different feel—ancient and wise, rather than sensual and earthy—but its nature was the same as hers. She’d never seen such a thing in any other person.
Suddenly, that icy darkness Mae knew so well slapped her in the face. The radiance burning through her faltered, and she felt the darkness’s familiar hands resting heavily on her shoulders, trying to block her from the statue’s power. The two forces fought against each other, the statue’s warmth calling to Mae as the darkness crushed it. She felt like she was being ripped in two until at last the darkness won. The light and life vanished. Above her, the Lady of the Book stared blankly ahead, a stony scholar once more.
Victorious in its conquest, the darkness lifted, leaving Mae dizzy. She staggered a few steps and started to fall. Justin caught hold of her hand to steady her. She started to lean into him and then suddenly jerked away. “Don’t touch me!” she exclaimed.
“Easy,” he said. His enthralled look was gone. There was no power there. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.” She turned in another direction, attempting to avoid eye contact. He moved in front of her.
“Forget that you hate me for a minute. I’m just trying to help.”
“You’re the last person whose help I need.”
“You saw something,” he insisted, a sharp look in his eyes.
“Yeah. A lifeless statue.”
But his face told her he didn’t believe her. He knew what had happened. Or at least he knew more about what had happened than she did.
“Don’t you have a job to do?” she asked irritably.
Whatever retort he might have made was interrupted when Claude came to stand beside them and admire the statue. “Her flame illuminates the path to knowledge,” he told them.
“It’s lovely,” said Mae automatically. But that was all it was: a nicely carved piece of stone. There was no life force in it, certainly not one with divine powers.
“It’s new,” said Justin. He gave Mae one last searching look and then turned toward Claude with his we’re pals smile. The servitor was back. “It’s not on last year’s inventory. I’m not an art appraiser, but this doesn’t seem to match up with your income—unless you’ve completely neglected all other operations.” Justin glanced meaningfully around. “Which it appears you haven’t.”
“Oh, no,” said Claude. “The temple didn’t purchase it. It was a gift. One of the wealthier members of our congregation was kind enough to donate it.”
“Ah, I understand. That’s lucky.” Justin made a note and continued his visual assessment of the facilities. When he finished, he and Claude sat down opposite each other at a desk in the temple’s back office. Mae had recovered from her earlier disorientation and took up a spot that was close enough to observe Justin and Claude—and intervene, if the seemingly docile priest surprised her—but otherwise stay out of their way.
“So.” Justin settled into the tilting leather desk chair he’d been given. He set his reader aside, projecting the ease and friendliness of someone who’d merely come to chat. “You want to renew your license for worship of a fictitious entity.”
Claude, who had almost started to relax in the face of Justin’s casualness, flushed. “She’s not fictitious, Dr. March.”